


Retribution

by aries_taurus, lavvyan, love2hulksmash, MissSlothy



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on a Tumblr Post, Canon-Typical Violence, Collaboration, Concussions, Dark, Explicit Language, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury Recovery, Kidnapping, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Writing Collective, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-01 11:37:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15142241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus/pseuds/aries_taurus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavvyan/pseuds/lavvyan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/love2hulksmash/pseuds/love2hulksmash, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSlothy/pseuds/MissSlothy
Summary: Feet on pavement. It’s the last thing Steve recalls clearly.No, no, that’s wrong.He remembers pain exploding in is skull. He was taking out the garbage when the hairs on the back of his neck had suddenly risen. A shuffle of running feet on pavement and then–An explosion of pain, starbursts, galaxies of them, blackness, and then nothing.





	1. Aries_Taurus: The Kidnapping

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Retribution (Traducción)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15573882) by [Igni1LB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Igni1LB/pseuds/Igni1LB)



> Notes by AriesTaurus:  
> So, initially, this is all my fault. A few weeks ago, I ended up in the hospital and I had a horrible roommate. I wrote about it on Tumblr, So, Lavvyan wrote a ficlet to cheer me up. When I got out, and felt better, I added to it. And then, so did MissSlothy and so did Love2HulkSmash and I added more and so did the others. And here we are.
> 
> This exercise was a BLAST. I even ended up writing McDanno with these gals!   
> So, to all of you, thanks for making this such a fun international ride!
> 
> I'd do it again in a heartbeat! After all, it's Jot it Down July!  
> So, read, enjoy, and comment!.

 

* * *

 

Feet on pavement. It's the last thing Steve recalls clearly.

No, no, that's wrong. 

He remembers pain exploding in is skull. He was taking out the garbage when the hairs on the back of his neck had suddenly risen. A shuffle of running feet on pavement and then--

An explosion of pain, starbursts, galaxies of them, blackness, and then nothing.

 

* * *

He comes to slowly, not like on TV, not with a sharp inhale and full awareness. The first thing he's aware of is the pounding in his head, then the pressure on his neck, the bindings at his wrists and ankles. He can feel metal against his back and legs, holding him up on some kind of cross.

He opens his eyes only to screw them shut again, sweat running into them making them sting, the amber glow of the room he's in making the pain in his head multiply tenfold.

The air is thick with heat and sweat is pouring down his body. That's when he realises he's been stripped of all his clothes and left completely bare, except for the restraints.

He swallows but chokes halfway through, the pressure on his throat too great.

Someone is shouting at him but he can't make out the words. It's like he's underwater, can't hear right.

A rough hand grabs his chin and squeezes his jaw tight, fingers bruising his skin. There's a sudden presence beside him, a hot breath on his face, shouting in his ear.

The words don't make sense. The sounds don't match the meaning, yet he understands what the man is asking.

He knows the answer. Knows the right words.

Something's holding them back.

A word bubbles up in his mind.

_Khmer_

The words shouted in his ear aren't in English. They're in Khmer. 

Khmer. _Cambodia_.

Images flash through his head faster than he can hang on to them or comprehend: a grave in a Cambodian jungle, his mother's face, a black site in Morocco, Wo Fat, a gray ship, Hesse, a bomb collar around Chin's neck, bullets tearing through Jenna Kaye, a bunker in a deep North Korean jungle, and a voice. This voice.

He blinks and turns his head, looking at the man pressing his arm against his throat. Through the haze that won't clear his vision he sees the face of the man he saw behind Wo Fat in North Korea, here, on the Island, the one they released seven years ago...

The man who must be Wo Fat's lieutenant.

The man who's asking about Wo Fat's money. The man who's bragging about his training by the Khmer Rouge.

Steve inhales slowly, lifts his head, easing the pressure on his throat a little. He licks his lips and locks eyes with his newest torturer. He smiles.

"McGarrett, Steven, John, Lieutenant Commander, United States Navy Five-0 Task force. 575-06-8922"

The man by his side chuckles darkly. There's a hint of moment and the wide band across his throat tightens sharply.

The question is repeated.

So is his answer, his voice thinner

The pressure on his throat increases.

The cycle repeats, again and again, until he can't draw air into his lungs, black motes erasing the amber glow of the metal cage into nothingness.

He wakes up again, sweat dripping off his face onto the floor, his throat aching. He coughs painfully but he doesn't have the time to raise his head before it's slammed hard against the metal wall he's shackled to.

Fireworks ignite in his skull and he doesn't really hear the question being asked.

Still, his answer is the same.

"McGarrett, Steven, John, Lieutenant Commander, United States Navy Five-0 Task force. 575-06-8922," he rasps. 

Again, the leather against his throat tightens, choking him.

Same question, same answer, but his captor gets impatient and slams his head against the metal wall.

A supernova goes off in his head and he's swallowed by the resulting black hole.

 

* * *

He wakes up again but this time he's in a heap on the burning metal floor short, heavy chains bolted to it holding him in place under the blistering midday sun.

His throat burns, both from the repeated chokings and from intense thirst. His tongue feels thick, swollen and his head aches deeply, throbbing from the repeated blows and from the dehydration. He's in trouble and he knows it.

He knows his team's looking for him, like always.

He'll hold on as long as he can, give them as much time as he can. 

If they don't give him water, he's got less than two days.

He's got faith.

His team'll find him in time.

Danny'll find him in time.

He always does.

* * *

 

 

He loses time, loses the thread.

Chains. Choking leather. Burning metal.

Blackness. Amber light. 

Screams in his ear. Hot breath on his cheek.

One whisper. McGarrett, Steven, John, Lieutenant Commander, United States Navy Five-0 Task force. 575-06-8922.

Noise explodes, light screams into white.

A soft hand on his face.

Choking pressure falling away.

Cool water at his lips.

Something pliant under his shoulders. A mattress.

He lets go. Sleeps.

 

TBC...


	2. Love2HulkSmash: The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Christ Almighty,” Danny gasped at the sight. Streaks of blood covered the passenger headrest, dripping down to a small pool in the seat. His brain short-circuited, and he felt like his knees were going to give out at any moment.
> 
>  
> 
> “Easy, Danny, easy,” Kono said quietly from beside him, a steady hand gripping his shoulder, “We don’t know what this means yet. Let’s work the scene, okay? Steve needs us to work the scene right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, when I initially saw aries_taurus and lavvyan's Tumblr post with this story, I thought the idea of round-robining a story was damn cool, and I was impressed at the idea that people from different parts of the world could see the same show and come together to write a story that shared the same excitement and intensity as the show, without losing either their individuality or the truthfulness of the characters. 
> 
> Anywho, when I said as much, I somehow got roped into joining said round-robin, and decided, hey, I've never written action before so sure I'll take the rescue op! I don't regret it because, not to pat my own back, but even I was impressed with what I wrote after procrastinating for 2 days. Hope you all enjoy this as much as I do!

Noise explodes, light screams into white.

  
A soft hand on his face.

  
Choking pressure falling away.

  
Cool water at his lips.

  
Something pliant under his shoulders. A mattress.

  
He lets go. Sleeps.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  
_48 hours ago…_

 

Danny paced inside his office, his nerves a bundle of firecrackers under his skin. He’d been awakened early that morning by a phone call from Duke, the HPD veteran in a panic practically yelling that Steve’s truck had been found on an abandoned road up on the North Shore. There had been blood covering the passenger’s side seat and center console, but there wasn’t a trail leading either to or from the vehicle, which was why Duke had been in said panicky state.

 

Danny had immediately hung up and called Chin and Kono, and the trio had met up at the scene to try to gather more information firsthand. When he arrived, Duke tried to keep him from the truck, but Danny simply shoved him aside, so hard Duke stumbled and almost fell. Chin and Kono wordlessly followed the blonde over to the truck, ignoring the pissed off glances from several HPD officers.

 

“Christ Almighty,” Danny gasped at the sight. Streaks of blood covered the passenger headrest, dripping down to a small pool in the seat. His brain short-circuited, and he felt like his knees were going to give out at any moment.

 

“Easy, Danny, easy,” Kono said quietly from beside him, a steady hand gripping his shoulder, “We don’t know what this means yet. Let’s work the scene, okay? Steve needs us to work the scene right now.”

 

Danny swallowed against the rising bile in his mouth, trying to take shallow breaths as his vision narrowed until only the blood was his focus. “Kono, that’s a lotta blood,” he whispered, “It’s….”

 

“We know, Danny. Which means Steve needs us to _work the scene,_ ” Chin said adamantly from his other side, “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we find him and get him back.”

 

Danny took a deeper breath, then another, then another, until he felt like his heart wasn’t trying to claw its way out of his chest. Kono gave his shoulder a squeeze once more before pulling on a pair of latex gloves and moving around the truck.

 

It was nearly three hours before the trio had managed to make it back to HQ, boxes of evidence from the truck in tow to be dropped off on Fong’s desk with the highest of priorities. Chin had gone to the tech table to begin working his magic, trying to track down camera feeds that would give them a clue as to how Steve’s truck had ended up on the North Shore in the first place. Kono was in her office phoning in every favor owed to the team by local, state, and even a few federal agencies. Because Danny had a gut feeling that his partner, his colleague, his best friend on the planet, was in a true life-or-death situation. And that? That terrified him to his very soul.

 

\----------------

 

“Fuckin’ finally,” Chin whispered slapping the computer table triumphantly. He’d found and lost, and found and lost, the trail of Steve’s truck over the course of the morning and early afternoon, but he’d finally caught a break just now. The grainy footage showed Steve’s truck driving steadily up a service road off Route 99.

 

There weren’t many surveillance cameras on the interstates, let alone on the smaller routes, but the Dole Plantation took up much of that particular section of the smaller highway, and they were strict about keeping an eye on their property, especially during harvesting season. Chin watched with narrowed eyes as the blue truck finally stopped, in the exact spot they’d found it that morning. A nondescript white service van with the Dole company logo on it pulled up behind the truck, and a man in a blue work jumper climbed from the driver’s seat.

 

“DANNY!” Chin called out as someone got out of Steve’s truck as well. Danny came skidding to his side just as the men began hoisting Steve of his truck, his head hanging limply. Danny and Chin watched in silence as they unceremoniously tossed the Commander into the white van, his body completely dead weight. Chin quickly grabbed screenshots of both men’s faces, as well as a shot of the van’s license plate. As Danny still stood in a mix of shock and horror, Chin started up the facial rec software.

 

“Danny, please don’t make me hit you to get you to focus,” Chin snapped suddenly. The blonde jerked at the sound, his eyes finding Chin’s. Chin sighed, because he knew this fear was for reasons that neither Danny nor Steve had come close to admitting to themselves, let alone to each other.

 

“I can’t do this by myself, Danny. Steve needs _you_ to find him, I’m just here to get you to him,” Chin said quietly, “We clear?”

 

Danny took a calmer breath, nodding before turning his attention back to the main monitor. He rewound the footage, this time watching it with his trained detective’s eyes. Steve was clearly mostly unconscious, yes, but he was still alive. The more muscular of the two kidnappers had struggled to pull Steve from the passenger side vehicle, and Danny could see on this second viewing that his friend had been struggling against the man, even if it was a halfhearted attempt. That meant he’d been drifting in and out of awareness since they’d taken him, and knew it was best to wait until they reached their destination before making his escape attempt.

The half-heartedness of that attempt, though, meant he’d been physically taken down elsewhere, probably at his home since the truck engine had been cool to the touch when Duke had arrived at the scene, and the last place Danny had seen it had been in the driveway when he’d dropped Steve off after work the night before. “Kono!” he called out beginning to tap steadily at the computer table, calling up the security site for Steve’s home security account.

 

Kono appeared at his side moments later, brushing him aside and typing in Steve’s passcode with one hand, her other keeping her cellphone glued to her ear.

 

“Do I wanna know?” Chin asked, humor tinting his voice.

 

“I know his house code, Kono knows his account code. What’s funny is Steve barely remembers either one of 'em,” Danny answered back, finding what he was looking for and pulling up the camera feeds from the recordings made in the past 12 hours.

 

“There, right there!” Kono said pointing determinedly at one of the camera angles. She quickly sent the feed from the table to the main monitor, and they watched carefully as Steve was attacked from behind by a masked man. Steve was hit with a pretty large pipe, and he’d collapsed to the ground, probably unconscious before he even hit the cement.

 

“So that’s probably where the blood’s from,” Danny said tensely, his fists clenching at this side. His fear was quickly replaced by white-hot rage. If there was little else he hated about the criminal underworld, it was a coward. However, the angle of attack, the quickness of it, and how easily the attacker had been able to lift Steve from the ground and carry him over to the truck indicated at least some level of training.

 

“Okay, well, that means we have a starting point for this, and we know where Steve’s truck ended up,” Kono said, and Danny could almost feel the relief pouring off her skin. It was one of the first things she’d been taught about assessing a crime scene. If it was clear that the first scene wasn’t the primary one, find the primary scene as soon as possible. It was there that one would be likely to find the most relevant clues.

 

“Guys…you’re not gonna believe this,” Chin said quietly. He quickly swiped his discovery up to the second monitor, two men’s mugshots appearing in stark clarity, and said, “The guy on the left is Takahashi Ishikawa, the guy on the right is Kazuchika Ishikawa.”

 

“Okay? Brothers, cousins, what?” Danny asked, not understanding why Chin looked so in shock.

 

“They’re brothers, sons of the long-late Koji Ishikawa, lieutenant…to Hiro Noshimuri,” Chin answered casting a quick glance to his cousin.

 

Kono’s eyes widened slightly and started, “You don’t think…”

 

“I’m pretty sure this has nothin’ to do with Adam, cuz, and everything to do with Steve. Ishikawa kidnapped Mary on Hiro’s orders about 7 years ago, remember. The only reason we knew it was Hiro who ordered it was because Koji took that old toolbox as proof, and we found Hiro’s fingerprints on it,” Chin answered.

 

“Right, right, and then Hiro had Ishikawa killed because o’ that, though official cause of death was somethin’ to do with a “car accident”,” Danny said, leaning against the table and crossing his legs tightly, “Well, this is good. We got somethin’ solid to go on at least. Kono, have you heard back from anybody on that Dole van yet?”

 

“Been playing phone tag with Dole security chain o’ command all afternoon,” Kono said, “But if one o’ these guys actually works for the company, that’ll give me somethin’ to work with, especially if they can get us his employee record.”

 

At that moment, the phone clicked in her ear and a gruff voice spoke, “Hello, this is David Anoa’i, head of security, I hear you’ve been trying to reach me.” Kono smirked at Danny and headed back for her office, beginning what felt like her millionth rundown of what she was looking for from the company.

 

“We’ll find him, Danny,” Chin said quietly as Danny faced the computer table once more, fury and fear and a focus he hadn’t felt since Steve had almost died in his arms on that plane washing over him.

 

“You bet your ass we are,” he said simply.

 

\----------------

 

Danny slowly came to a stop in front of the abandoned building deep in the heart of the Waianae Kai Forest Reserve. He cut the engine of the reserve’s stock employee jeep with bated breath, Kono standing in the seat behind him with her H&K MP7A1 rifle already sweeping the area.

 

“Looks clear, boss,” she murmured with a quick nod. Danny and Chin quickly exited the vehicle, pulling their own weapons into place and sweeping the area meticulously while Kono climbed out and took her place between them.

 

The eldest of the Ishikawa brothers had worked for Dole as an overnight delivery driver, and – according to his brother, whom they’d arrested just two hours ago – had used his access to the fields of the plantation to enact his revenge plan against Steve for the death of their father. The younger Kazuchika had been responsible for bringing Steve to the designated meeting spot, and Takahashi had then transported him to this place overnight. The GPS tracker on his delivery van had shown repeated stops over the past 12 hours to this location, but the lack of security or guards or anything even resembling a deterrent to outsiders sent a thread of fear through the detective.

 

“I don’t hear anything other than the birds, but that doesn’t mean nobody’s here,” Danny said softly before starting for the nearest entry point to the building, “On my six.”

 

“We definitely gotta find McGarrett soon,” Kono said, and Danny smirked at the humor in her voice, “You’re startin’ to sound like him again.”

 

“If he stopped gettin’ himself in these situations, I wouldn’t have to sound like him,” Danny whispered back as they moved in a staggered line towards the building. Taking a slow breath, waiting for Chin’s hand to squeeze his shoulder assuredly as a signal they were ready to move, Danny sent up a prayer to whomever was listening that his friend was at least alive. The rest they could deal with in time. Danny just needed him to still be alive.

 

The squeeze came and Danny swung the door open, heading inside with Chin and Kono on his heels.

 

\----------------

 

Danny worked on autopilot as soon as he’d separated from his teammates. Two bodyguards posted at a single doorway were shot as soon as they’d raised their eyes to the noise of Danny’s footsteps, not given even a ghost of chance to bring up the sawed-off shotguns in their laps. He quickly stepped over their prone bodies and slowly entered the room they were supposed to be guarding. His heart dropped to his stomach at the sight.

 

“Steve, hey, babe, I’m here,” Danny whispered falling immediately to his knees in front of Steve’s mostly nude hanging form. His arms were stretched out to either side, almost to their limits, held in place by two brutal-looking metal cuffs. The wide beam at his back served to keep his arms stretched out, and he could see it was rigged to be pulled up from the ceiling,which would have left Steve painfully suspended. A rustic collar was around the brunette’s throat, and Danny struggled to focus on which to free his friend of first.

 

Steve’s breathing was shallow, his skin burning hot but also a deathly pale. Danny fought the tears of rage and paralyzing fear, running his hands loosely over Steve’s upper body to assess the damage. He’d clearly been tortured, judging by the swelling across his face and the bruises splattering his chest and ribcage. Steve suddenly groaned and pulled feebly against his restraints.

 

“McGarrett, Steven, John,” he rasped out immediately, unable to even lift his head or open his eyes, “Lieu--. Lieutenant Commander. United-United States Navy…”

 

“Babe, it’s me, it’s Danny, I’ve got you,” Danny murmured gently cupping his face with one hand and quickly undoing the clasp on the collar with the other. Steve trembled violently in his arms, continuing, “Five-0 Task Force….575…06…8922.”

 

“Danny, here,” Chin whispered from behind Danny, holding out a bottle of water. He and Kono had cleared the rest of the building while Danny had went in search of Steve. There’d been nobody else around, so they’d quickly retraced their steps and tracked down Danny.

 

Danny tipped the bottle to Steve’s mouth, motioning with his head for Chin and Kono to grab the nearby mattress. It was dirty, soiled with god only knew what, but it was softer than the floor. He allowed Steve just a few small sips before setting the bottle down and bracing his torso carefully.

 

“Get the cuffs, guys, get the cuffs off,” he whispered at Steve’s agonized groan, “Okay, babe, okay, we got you, we’re gonna get you outta here, I promise.”

 

The cousins quickly undid the cuffs, then helped Danny stretch Steve out. “Go call Duke, Tripler, whoever, get a medevac out here ASAP, Kono,” Danny said easing down at Steve’s head, “Chin, go wait with her, make sure they get the right location.”

 

Chin nodded, knowing exactly why Danny needed them both gone in that moment. Kono seemed to hesitate, but Chin merely grasped her arm and pulled her out of the room behind him. Danny waited until he couldn’t hear even the faintest sounds of their footsteps, then let the tears finally fall.

 

Steve still trembled against him, as if this was just a delusional dream and he was waiting to wake up back in the nightmare he’d been in for the better part of the past 36 hours.

 

“You know I’d never lie to you, Steven, not even in your dreams. Relax, babe, I’m gonna get you outta here as soon as the right people show up,” Danny whispered gently stroking his hand over the one unbruised part of Steve’s face.

 

Steve shuddered at the touch, breathing out, “Danny…?”

 

Danny leaned down and placed the barest of kisses to his forehead. “Yeah, it’s me, babe, really me,” he murmured, “You really thought I couldn’t track you down on Oahu? I’ve crossed the International Date Line to come find you, city boundaries are a walk in the park.”

 

Steve finally relaxed against his touch, and Danny kissed his forehead a little steadier this time. “You’re safe now, babe, I’ve got you,” he whispered as Steve pressed up against the feel, “Relax, you’re gonna be outta here before you know it.”

 

A heavy sigh of relief later, between an inhale and an exhale, and the brunette was asleep in his arms. Danny vowed in that moment they would have retribution for this, one way or another.


	3. Aries_Taurus: Resurgence - Not safe yet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah, Chin. No, no, he's fine, well as fine as he can be with a grade III concussion. We screwed up. The Ishikawa brothers were just the muscle."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This immediately follows Chapter 2, and this is where we start to understand what's going on, who really kidnapped Steve: the resurgence of a enemy thought long dead.
> 
> We didn't state it specifically before but this is set somewhere in Season 7. This is my last contribution. Steve's POV

He doesn't get much of a break. The loud thwap of helicopter blades chopping the air rouses. He lifts his head up, ignoring the pain in his neck, forcing back the fog in his head, focusing on the one thing that matters.

Danny.

He turns just enough to catch Danny's eyes and he forces a smile onto his cracked and bloody lips.

"Knew you'd come," he rasps. 

Danny's blue eyes swim with tears a lone drop trails down his cheek. "Babe, don't talk. Shh. Just keep your strength."

"I'm... okay."

"No, you're not. You're... beat up and..."

"Danno," he insists. He has to tell him. He has to make Danny understand. His body is hurt but inside the shell, he's there. He's okay. "Danno. Listen," he says, clearly as he can.

Danny pauses in his building rant, Steve can tell, because he knows his Danny, and he looks at him, really looks at him, understands what Steve's saying. "I'm okay," he repeats. Physically, he's not doing so well, but that doesn't _matter._

Danny lets his head drop slowly, their foreheads touching and Steve lets his eyes close, feeling more tears falling on his face.

The moment doesn't last. The MEDEVAC crew show up and he car hear Chin and Kono too. He digs in deep, finds his last reserves and grits his teeth. For Danny.

He tries to hold on, he does, but halfway through, the pain and the stars and the darkness all start to blur again and everything disappears.

Everything but Danny's hand holding his.

 

* * *

The hand is still there when he wakes up again.

The light is softer, pale white, the sick amber gone. The pain is there but it's dulled, except maybe in his head.

The shackles are gone too and he can breathe easier.

"Danny," he whispers, frantic, because something is missing. He has to tell Danny.

"Hey, s'okay, babe. You're safe. We got'em. We got the bastards," Danny soothes, standing, never letting go of his hand. The other one goes to his forehead, smoothing his hair back softly.

"Got im?"

"Yeah, we got both the Ishikawa brothers. You're safe."

Safe? Brothers? But... What? Who?

"Ishikawa," Steve repeats, uncomprehending. This time, the words and the language are right but the meaning is wrong. Ishikawa is Japanese.

"Yeah. Kazuchika, the youngest of the two, is the one who hit you with a steel pipe outside your house. Took you up to the North Shore, up to the Dole plantation where your truck was found. That's where his older brother Takahashi worked. From there, they got you to the Waianae Kai Forest Reserve, where we found you."

Steve shakes his head. His brain is full of drugs and there's the pain pounding in his skull and a blur of images, amber light, dizziness, echoes of screams... but what Danny's saying is wrong. 

"N...No," he mutters. "S'not..." He looks around the room and... it's not right. Not where he's supposed to be.

"Babe it's okay. I promise. We're at King's because Tripler was swamped. There was some kind of training accident so you were brought here instead, but you're in the hospital and you're gonna be okay. I know things are really confusing right now but that's because you have a really bad concussion, all right? Okay babe?"

"Ishikawa is... Japanese," he says, the words scraping in his throat, hurting. Japanese is wrong.

His head hurts. Nothing makes sense.

"Yeah, it is babe. Look, it's a little more complicated but you need to rest, okay? This is already the fourth time I'm telling you this story so let's skip the repeat for when you'll remember, okay?"

No. No, that... It's wrong. He has to tell Danny but he can't make his mouth work right. He shakes his head but it makes the room swim and the pounding in his head grows, making him groan.

He has to... find.... Someone.

He puts his hands on the mattress, tries to sit up.

"Shhhh, no, babe, please, settle down, hey, hey, no, just, just, relax, just tell me what's wrong."

He opens his eyes again and looks at Danny, at his scared blue eyes. He can do this. For Danny, he can do anything. He closes his eyes, inhales, exhales and swallows before opening his eyes again. He wants to find... a man. The man... is... The word suddenly rolls off his tongue, scratching his throat like glass.

"Khmer."

"Khmer," Danny repeats.

"Yeah," he breathes, sagging against his pillow, praying Danny understands.

"Not... Not Japanese," Danny says, thoughtful.

He shakes his head and opens his eyes to look at Danny again. The face he knows is blurred, warped, but he can tell Danny's thinking, searching for clues in that one word his bruised brain was able to spit out.

"Why the hell do I know that word?" Danny thinks out loud. "Where have I heard this before?"

Steve screws his eyes closed and swallows again, trying to force his brain to let the words he wants to say come out of his mouth, and the one he wants most pops to the surface like a bubble.

"Cambodian."

Danny's face pinches, sharpens. "You're telling me we're missing a guy? A Cambodian? Is that it, Steve? Did we miss the guy that actually did this to you?"

Steve exhales, closes his eyes, nods.

Danny's whispers a vociferous curse. "Okay, okay. So, you know this guy is tied to the Yakuza and Hiro Nosim-"

Steve shakes his head. "No," he says, making his voice as firm as he can.

Danny knows what he means because he goes quiet for a second.

"No. No. No, don't tell me. Don't tell me. I don't wanna hear it because I know. The bastard's been dead two years and he's still screwing with you. It's one of Wo Fat's lackeys. FUCK! I cannot believe this. Yeah, Chin. No, no, he's fine, well as fine as he can be with a grade III concussion. We screwed up. The Ishikawa brothers were just the muscle.  We're looking for a Cambodian national. And I'm pretty sure we have him ID'ed somewhere. Get me some photos of every single mook in WoFat's crew to show to Steve. Yeah. Yeah I know. He can point him out so we can find him and put him down."

Steve feels Danny's hand cover his again, feels the other one caress his face gently.

"S'okay, babe. I got the message this time. We'll get him. He won't hurt you ever again. So you just rest. You're safe. I promise."

This time, he sleeps easy.

Because Danny never, ever lies.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now pass the baton to Lavvyan. The chapter that follows is actually the one that started it all, so big shout to her for creathing this monster! YAYYYY!!!!
> 
> If you have the chance to do this, I urge you to try. It's a lot of fun!


	4. lavvyan: Room to Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The snippet that started it all. I honestly love the way it turned into a whole, plotty story thanks to so many wonderfully talented writers. Collaborations ftw!

"Uncle Steve!"

The voice is too loud, like everything around him, but it barely cuts through the racket that is his asshole roommate watching football. It’s like the man needs to feel like he’s right inside the stadium. But the voice also isn’t supposed to be here, so Steve opens his eyes.

He regrets it almost immediately as the light stabs into his eyes. It’s not any brighter than during all his other hospital stays, he knows that, but today they feel like floodlights. His brief glimpse of Grace’s worried face is surrounded by a faint halo.

He hates getting hit over the head.

"Doing… here…?" he rasps as she sits down next to his bed. The words scrape up his throat like sandpaper.

He hates nearly getting choked to death, too.

"My class is picking up trash around here for Earth Day," Grace says. "I asked Mrs. Keawe if I could spend my lunch break here and she said okay."

She’s leaning close so she can keep her voice low. It’s a sweet thought, but apparently one of the teams just scored because the wild cheering grows deafening for a moment.

Steve wants to cry.

"Can’t you lower the volume?" Grace asks, her clothes rustling like she’s preparing to stand up.

"Yeah, in a minute," Steve’s asshole roommate says. Just like he told the nurse. Half an hour ago.

The man pisses with the door open. Consideration for others is not in his character.

Grace does stand up then. Steve fumbles for her hand, pulls her back down.

"But he’s hurting you!" she whisper-protests, and he loves that girl. Loves her with all his heart.

"’s okay," he promises. He might be useless right now, but when he’s better, he’ll look this guy up and they’ll have a conversation about manners. He’s been fantasizing about shoving his gun up the asshole’s nostril since last night.

It’ll be a very short conversation, but Steve will enjoy every second of it.

He loosens his grip on Grace’s hand, but she doesn’t let go of him. Instead, she brushes her fingertips lightly over the back of his hand, where three nurses and a doctor tried and failed to insert an IV port a collective dozen times. It’s in the crook of his elbow now, pressing in at just the right angle to be a constant source of discomfort.

Steve might hate being dehydrated most of all.

"You look like a junkie," Grace says, her voice small.

Steve squeezes her hand and smiles in her general direction, trying to reassure her. He doesn’t know if he succeeds, but after a moment, she starts telling him about her day and the scandalous things her classmate Tommy can do with a popsicle stick and half a hot dog. Steve listens, letting the familiar sound of her voice flow over him until he drifts off into an uncomfortable doze.

The TV is silent when he wakes up. One of the nurses must have gotten fed up and relieved the asshole of the remote. Of course, all this means is that the asshole is now using his phone to stream his favorite radio station. It may not be as loud, but the tinnier quality and the frankly horrifying music are torturous enough to make him wonder if it’s be worth the pain in his throat to ask the nurse to please sedate him out of his misery. His eyes are already closed, but his pained frown squeezes them shut even tighter until they’re watering. Christ, but he hurts.

A light touch to the side of his neck makes him jerk. His eyes fly open, but a warm hand covers them just in time to block out the light.

"Sorry," Danny says, "it’s just me."

Steve huffs and raises his good hand to flip Danny off. Danny snorts.

"Yeah, love you too, babe. Hold still for a moment, okay?" His voice is caught somewhere between his Dad Tone and his My Partner Is A Goofball Tone.

Steve frowns.

Then something cool and soft closes down over his right ear, quickly warming up to body temperature as his left ear is covered up. The grating noise of the radio station fades into muted thumps and murmurs. Steve feels his mouth drop open at the sudden, blissful relief, brings his good hand up to touch-

Noise-canceling headphones. Like the ones he gave Danny years ago.

His throat feels tight as he swallows.

Danny pats the side of Steve’s neck again and Steve almost expects what comes next, allows himself to hope for it because this is Danny, and Danny takes care of the ones he loves.

So he doesn’t tense when something slides along his temples, and when the weight settles on his nose he immediately opens his eyes because he knows he’ll be wearing the darkest, ugliest pair of sunglasses Danny could find.

Danny, who is grinning down on him, looking endearingly self-satisfied.

Usually, Steve would convince himself that Danny being smug is more annoying than anything else, but right now he’s grateful enough that if Danny offered to let him pick a base again, Steve might go for something other than the hug.

Danny’s grin widens, though if he’s trying to hide his own fondness he’s doing a piss-poor job of it. He holds up his index finger in the international gesture of Wait A Moment, and before Steve can think to protest Danny turns on his heel and leaves the room.

He’s gone for several minutes. Steve lets himself bask in the dark near-silence, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in what feels like days, his pain not gone but softer, muted. When Danny returns, it’s with a nurse in tow. She’s trying to look conciliatory as she unlocks the wheels of the asshole’s bed while Danny creates a small stack of belongings on top of his sheets, but her expression is almost as smug as Danny’s. The asshole protests, voice loud and getting louder, but the nurse shrugs as she says something, points to Danny’s badge. Danny rests his hand on the butt of his gun and smirks.

Next time Danny tries to get on Steve’s case for abusing Five-0’s immunity and means, Steve will remind him of this moment.

Then again, maybe not, because that’s the asshole disappearing out the door and Danny remaining there, waiting for the nurse to return with what looks to be a new IV-port,  _is_  a new IV-port, which she slips into the back of Steve’s hand and straight into a vein with barely a sting, the process easy now he's rehydrated. She tapes it down, hooks it to the IV and removes the other port from the crook of Steve’s arm.

Steve sighs, quite possibly a little in love, though he couldn’t say if the rush of warm feelings is aimed at the nurse or at Danny.

Scratch that. When Danny sits down in the chair his daughter vacated just hours ago and rests his hand on Steve’s forearm, thumb rubbing warm half-circles into Steve’s skin, Steve knows exactly the person he wants to send a thank-you bouquet and the one he wants to badger into moving back in with him so they can grow old together.

That will come later, though.

For now, he closes his eyes again and lets his head sink back, Danny’s presence a steady source of contentment as he finally, properly falls asleep.


	5. MissSlothy: A reunion (of sorts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The horrible guy from the hospital room meets up with Steve again.
> 
> Warning: horrible guy from the hospital curses a lot.

Hey, Sirius! You’re still alive, man.”

“Like you give a fuck.” Sirius limps to the bar, cursing at anyone who gets in his way. It’s a fucking joke the way they glare at him but as soon as they see his crutches they move themselves out of the way.

Over at the bar he can see his friends watching him. They’re still laughing at him but he can see the doubt growing in their eyes. Tucking the crutches under his arms he heads for them, grimacing as he limps for all he’s worth.

He can’t remember much about the car crash: he’d been on his phone at the time.  The first responders kept telling him how lucky he was.  But severe bruising and a lightly sprained ankle isn’t going to get him the free drinks he feels his dickhead friends owe him. So he’s borrowed his old man’s crutches for a few hours.  

As he often tells his friends: he is a goddamn fucking genius.

The laughter dies as he gets closer. His friends part like the Red Sea when he adds a grunt of pain for effect. Suddenly there’s an empty stool in front of him. Slumping onto it he groans loudly.

“Jesus. I thought you’d just sprained something.” It’s Jerry who’s spoken, the self-styled leader of their gang. He’s a dick-head with an ego the size of New York.

“Broken it,” Sirius lies easily, pointing down at his foot. Jerry’s mocking tone is seriously pissing him off.

“Not our fault you drive like a pussy,” someone yells from the back of the crowd, ducking their head when he glares at them.

“Yeah, remind me again,” Jerry cuts in, his lips curling into a mocking smile, “why do I pay you to be our driver?”

Sirius flips off the guys at the back of the crowd before answering Jerry.  “Cos I can outrun anyone in HPD,” he shoots back, holding Jerry’s gaze.  “And I know every road and dirt track on this island.  ’Course, if you can find someone else as good as me then…” He trails off with a shrug. He’s sure the asshole doesn’t know who he’d been talking to on the phone. If he did he’d already be lying unconscious in an alley somewhere.

Jerry holds his gaze for a few beats longer.  Then he laughs, yells at the barman to get the beers in.  

There’s a football game on TV. Three beers later, he still hasn’t had to pay for a drink. Someone’s just ordering him another one when his bladder makes itself known. In his hurry he almost forgets his crutches. A panicked glance reassures him that Jerry’s not watching but he hobbles to the restroom anyway.

There’s no way he’s paying for those drinks.

The crutches are a fucking liability. Pissing in the trough is impossible. He takes one of the cubicles instead. Using the crutches to wedge the door open, he unzips and points. Maybe the doc at the hospital was right, he thinks, as his aim misses, hitting the wall. Painkillers and alcohol don’t mix.

He laughs and pisses harder.

Swaying slightly, he leans against the wall. Everything’s spinning so he’s only vaguely aware when the door to the restroom slams open. He notices though when the wall in front of him falls into shadow as someone stands in the doorway behind him.

“Piss off,” he slurs, fumbling for his zipper. With his other hand he reaches behind him for a crutch. He’s heard what the fucking perverts get up to in restrooms. Widening his stance, he grabs the crutch and gets ready to swing it, to punch this guy in the balls.

The crutch doesn’t move.

Slowly, Sirius turns. There’s a large hand wrapped around the top of the crutch, pinning it in place. It’s attached to a wrist that’s swollen and mottled with purple bruises. Sirius’s eyes travel higher and his eyes widen, his breath catching in his throat.

“What the fuck are  _you_  doing here?”

The guy from the hospital stares back at him. Out of bed, standing tall, he’s filling the doorway. In the murky half-light of the rest room he looks paler, his cheekbones more pronounced. His eyebrows are a single dark slash across his forehead. His lips are a thin, sharp line. Eyes hooded, his shoulders are hunched, the muscles outlined by his black tee-shirt.

Sirius takes an involuntary step back.

The guy from the hospital studies him, his eyes resting briefly on the piss-covered wall behind him.  Then his eyes come back to rest on Sirius.  “The door,” he says in a hoarse voice that Sirius has to strain to hear.  “What did I tell you about closing the door when you piss?”

“What?”  Sirius stares back, the encroaching fear draining away in an instant.  He’d had to listen to this fucking idiot bitching for hours just because he’d taken a beating. And now he’s supposed to be what? Scared?  Sorry? Screw that.  “Get the fuck out of my way.”

Sirius is about to grab the crutches and push past, get away from this nut-job.  But alcohol always makes him braver; he takes a swing at him instead. Suddenly he’s up on tiptoes, pinned against the wall. The crutches crash to the floor.  Sirius wants to hurl every fucking swear word he knows at this bastard. But there’s a forearm pressed against his windpipe.

“I  _warned_  you,” the man hisses in his ear.  Reaching back slowly, he closes the door.  The lock slides home with a loud click.

Suddenly Sirius remembers he hasn’t zipped up his pants. As if reading his mind the man from the hospital looks down. When he looks up again he’s smiling. There’s no humour in it. Sirius shivers.

 “Those guys out there. They the ones you been dealing drugs with?”

Sirius blinks back, his brain scrabbling to keep up with the change in subject.  There’s something dark and primeval in this guy’s eyes. Something he knows not to mess around with.  Survival instinct makes him shake his head, say what he thinks he needs to say. “Don’t do drugs,” he says, squeezing the words out.

“The guy you called just before you crashed, he’s got a record for dealing and—"

“There wasn’t a guy—“

“You’re lying.”

Sirius drags in air as the pressure on his windpipe increases. There’s no way his friend would have talked so this guy can’t know what he’s been doing unless—. He swears as the memory of being moved from one hospital room to another comes back to him. His friend, he’d been wearing a badge.  Fuck.  _Fuck it._ “You’re a cop.”

“Five-0.”

“You can’t do this. I got rights—“

“And I’ve got immunity and means.” The guy moves in closer, putting his body weight behind his arm. “You’re gonna tell me about your friends, about the drugs you’re dealing—“

“I don’t do drugs!” Sirius blinks as his vision starts going grey around the edges. Grabbing the man’s arm with both hands he digs his fingers into the bruised flesh.  There’s a hiss of pain but the arm clamps tighter. Fear is creeping up Sirius’ spine, knotting his stomach, robbing him of the ability to think.  Desperate, he kicks out with his legs, aiming for the guy’s knees.  It’s like making contact with a brick wall.

The door to the restroom slams open, the flimsy lock snapping in two. 

“There you are, babe.”

Sirius slides to the floor as the pressure on his windpipe suddenly disappears.

“Danny. How did you find me?”

“Tracked your phone. And if your head was working right you’d know that. Which is what I’ve been telling you the last two days. You have a severe concussion.  You’re not firing on all cylinders. Correction,” he sighs, sticking his index finger in the air, in the classic ‘wait a second’ pose, “you’re firing on less cylinders than normal, which means  _none_.”

“Hey. That’s not fair. I found the guy, didn’t I?”

“Charlie and his Kindergarten class could have found this idiot and his buddies, Steve.”

Sirius risks a longer look at the men. The hospital guy (Steve - that’s the asshole’s name) is standing next to a shorter, blonde-haired guy dressed in a shirt and dark dress pants. The shorter guy realises he’s being watched and nods at him. Sirius’s anger stirs again, consuming the humiliation of moments before.  Blondy (Danny) had been the one who’d got him moved into that shit room in the hospital.

“Let me handle this, okay?” Danny’s saying, resting his hands on Steve’s shoulders and turning him away.

Sirius grins to himself, waiting for the first punch to land.  Steve’s still looking for a fight.  It’s obvious in the way he keeps clenching his hands, the way his right one keeps drifting towards his non-existent gun.  Then Danny gives him an insistent nudge with his hip and Steve’s body flops, his shoulders collapsing in on themselves.  It’s like Danny’s drained all the tension out of him.

Sirius can’t hear what Danny’s murmuring as they disappear out of the cubicle, Danny’s hand planted between Steve’s shoulder blades as he steers him away.  And he has no intention of waiting to find out.  Grabbing the crutches he waits until they disappear out of the restroom together.  Then he bolts for the nearest fire exit.

It’s almost dark as he runs across the parking lot.  It briefly crosses his mind that Jerry’s gonna kill him if he sees he’s running. But right now it’s not Jerry he’s afraid of.  Gulping in air he reaches his car and fumbles for his car keys.  Looking down, he realises he still hasn’t zipped up his pants.

“You need a hand there?”

The voice comes out of the darkness.  Sirius jumps out of his skin.  Spinning round he tries to locate the voice.  When Danny materialises out of the dark, a half smile on his face, Sirius’s not sure whether to be grateful or to run.

“The keys?  You need help?” Danny says, pointing at the car.  “I thought maybe with the crutches…” He tails off, looking back from where Sirius has just come.  “Or maybe not, huh?” he adds thoughtfully, chewing at his bottom lip.

“I’m good.”  Sirius presses the remote on his key fob, swearing when it doesn’t work.  He presses it again, as Danny comes closer, the heels of his dress shoes tapping on the ground.  All he wants right now is to get away from these assholes.

“I wanna apologise for my partner’s behaviour,” Danny announces, peering over Sirius’s shoulder as he presses the fob again.  “He’s been…um…well, you saw him in the hospital.  You live through something like that.  It..er…it’s tough to deal with,” he taps the side of his head, “up here.”

Sirius turns, squints down at him.  The guy actually sounds like he’s justifying his partner’s behaviour.  Like it’s okay for a police officer to assault an innocent man in a restroom _._ Tomorrow, he thinks, he’ll show them how fucking wrong they are about that.  Tonight he just wants to get out of here.  “Yeah.  Some guys just can’t take a beating like a man, huh?” he sneers, just as the key fob finally works and the door lock clicks open.  “And like I told him, I don’t do drugs.”

For a moment he doesn’t think Danny’s heard him.  Danny’s staring at his feet, his hands jammed deep in his pockets.  Then slowly he lifts his head and their eyes meet.  Danny’s eyes are black pools in his face, his lips pursed together in a tense, thin line.

Sirius drags his eyes away, afraid to confront the darkness he can see there.  Sliding into the driver’s seat, he slams the door then guns the engine.  As he pulls away he looks in his rear view mirror.  Danny’s still standing where he left him.  But now he’s got his phone to his ear.

Sirius wraps his shaking hands around the steering wheel and tells himself to breathe.  They’ve got nothing on him, he tells himself.  He’s just the driver, not a dealer. The arrangement he’s got with his friend is cash only, they’ll be nothing to lead them back to him.  Rubbing at his bruised throat he reminds himself about his ace card: police brutality.

There’s no way he’s going down for this.

H50H50H50

Steve leans back against the passenger seat headrest of the Camaro and closes his eyes.  Rubbing absently at his aching wrists, he wills his headache to go away.

It doesn’t work.

Sighing, he opens his eyes again.  His vision is still off because of the concussion: the half-light of dusk makes it even worse.  Frowning, he tries to pick out shapes in the parking lot.  Danny is out there with that dickhead.  And he should be out there watching his back.

He’s on the verge of ignoring Danny’s instruction to stay put when Danny appears out of the darkness. It’s actually his blond hair he sees first – he’s got his head down.  So Steve doesn’t see the scowl on his face until he gets into the driver’s seat.

“You okay?” he asks, his worry ramping up as he studies Danny’s face.  He knows that pinched look, those dark shadows under his eyes.  This last week, he’s been the cause of it. That doesn’t sit well with him. Not well at all.  “Danny?  What happened?”

“I’m good,” Danny replies, his hand hovering over Steve’s arm before coming down to rest lightly.  Smiling weakly, he starts the car up and pulls out of the lot.

Steve tries to ignore the way Danny’s hesitant about touching him, worried he’ll hurt him.  Acknowledging it will trigger off a shitload of emotions he’s not ready to confront.  “I’m sorry,” he says, looking out the window as they pull out onto the highway.  “I shouldn’t have gone in there like that.”

He’s aware of Danny looking over at him, just as he’s aware that Danny will understand this isn’t the only thing he’s apologising for.  “It’s okay, babe,” Danny answers, his hand coming out to touch again.  “You feeling better now?”

Steve understands they’re not talking about how he’s feeling physically.  Tracking down Sirius, looking into his background, it’s helped him deal with everything that’s happened, distracted him from the knowledge that the man who hurt him is still out there somewhere. But; “The case…I shouldn’t have done that, Danny.”  He closes his eyes, leans back again.  It’s was an idiotic move, giving his pain, anger and frustration an outlet like that. That wasn’t  _him_  back there in the restroom.  That was the guy Wo Fat’s lieutenant created, the man who’d fought to survive.  “I’ve blown the case.”

His confession is met with silence.  Steve opens his eyes.  Danny’s staring straight ahead, determination written across his face.  His hands are clenched around the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “Danny?”

“Your research was sound, babe,” Danny says, sounding distracted, just as Steve’s about to demand he stop the car.  “Kamekona’s making some calls.”

Steve knows he should ask what that means.  But now the surge of adrenaline is waning he’s too exhausted to care.  He musters up enough energy to insist on going to HPD HQ with Danny rather than going home.  Danny’s answering eye roll makes him smile, but he knows he’s not the only one who doesn’t want to be on his own tonight.

Stretched out on his office couch, the next few hours pass in a blur of his team checking in on him, and his eyelids traitorously sliding closed.  When Danny comes to collect him, he’s grateful for his steadying hand as he levers himself upright.

His body still feels like it’s been hit by a bus.

Obediently he follows Danny downstairs to the booking-in area.  What he sees wakes him up.  A group of men are being brought in by HPD officers and at the back of the line is Sirius.  When his eyes falls on Steve he starts yelling about police brutality.  Other voices join in.

Luckily, Danny can yell louder than any of them.

“This guy here,” Danny explains, pointing to the man at the head of the group, “is Jerry Smith.”  Steve nods: Jerry’s name had turned up in his research.  “Jerry deals drugs.  Sirius works as his driver.  And this guy here,”  Danny continues, pausing for a second as another man is brought into the booking-in room, “is Sirius’s friend, Pete.  You know about him too: he was the guy on the phone.  But what you don’t know,” Danny continues, bouncing on his toes, his lips curled up in a half smile, “is that Pete has been paying our buddy Sirius here to help him undercut Jerry’s prices.”

It takes a moment for Danny’s words to sink in.   Everyone falls silent, a moment suspended in time between one breath and the next.  Steve picks out Sirius easily in the crowd; he’s turned white as a sheet.

Someone moves.  Time starts up again.  All hell breaks loose. Jerry pulls away from his custody officer, heading for Sirius, murder written across his face.  Bodies start flying.  Jerry and Sirius are tackled to the ground by four huge HPD officers. It’s like watching a game of football, Steve thinks, unable to contain a smile.  Only this time, unlike in the hospital, Sirius really isn’t enjoying it.

Steve really is.

Beside him Danny’s got his arms crossed, looking very satisfied with himself.  Steve sidles up to him, until their shoulders just bump. Gently he nudges him, relieved when Danny looks up and there’s some warmth back in his expression, a welcome change from the pent up fury Danny’s been struggling with for days.

Wo Fat’s lieutenant had tried to break him.  In his darkest moments, Steve acknowledges that he came damn close to succeeding.  But he’d made it.  There’s no way he’s gonna let what that bastard did to him take its toll on Danny, or affect the relationship they have. 

He leans down, knowing what he needs to do.  “Thank you,” he whispers in Danny’s ear hoping he’ll understand all the layers beneath the words, the absolute and total love he feels for this man.

Danny’s answering smile tells Steve he does.

TBC

_Coming up in Chapter Six - Wo Fat's lieutenant makes a reappearance..._


	6. MissSlothy: Revenge...and facing reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thirst for revenge has driven Steve this far. But will it give him what he needs?

Steve inhales through his nose, then exhales slowly through his mouth, focusing on the whistling sound his breath makes as it escapes through his lips.  Counting silently he tries to block out the noise around him.

It doesn’t work.

“Steve?  You okay?”

Steve opens his eyes.  Lou Grover’s sitting opposite him.  The small van they’re in has been fitted out as an ambulance. Lou’s sitting on a bench that runs along one side, his knees nearly touching his chin.  Steve’s sitting on the stretcher that runs along the other side. Between them they’re filling most of the space.

“I’m good,” he says.  Lou’s eyebrows twitch skywards.  “I’m…just give me a minute, I’ll be okay,” Steve offers instead, relieved when Lou accepts that with a shrug.  He closes his eyes again.

Even with the back doors closed on the van he can hear the bustle of the street outside.  They’re parked up on a side street in Phnom Penh.  The capital of Cambodia is a magnet for tourists and there’s a multitude of languages being spoken, clashing and fighting to be heard.  But all Steve can hear is Kymer.  The language spoken by the bastard who’d tortured him.

“Okay.”  Grover sounds really worried now.  “You’re not looking so good—”

Steve raises his hand.  He keeps his eyes closed.  They’ve been in Cambodia for twenty-four hours and he’s been fine.  But sitting in the ambulance with its smell of antiseptic, it’s playing with his mind.  Memories are merging.  The hospital.  Being tortured.  The sound of that bastard’s voice.  He _knows_ he’s safe.  He really does.  But part of him is back there too, naked and shackled, fighting to stay alive.  That bastard’s yelling at him and he can’t breathe, he can’t fucking breathe…

Grover’s hand grabs his hand, pulling him back.  Steve opens his eyes, gasping.  Eyes darting around, he gradually takes in his surroundings.

“You back?”  Lou asks, his voice low. 

Impossibly low, Steve thinks vaguely.  So soft.  So worried.  Worried about _him_.  With a sigh he squeezes Lou’s hand, holds on for a moment, then let’s go.

Lou studies him.  Doubt is written across his face.  “You want me to get Danny?”

“No.” Steve takes a breathe, wincing at his harsh tone.  “No,” he repeats, turning to look out of the front windscreen.

The team had agreed that Steve needed to stay hidden.  There was always the chance someone might recognise him.   _Or try to finish what they’d started,_ Wade Gutches’s eyes had filled in silently as he’d briefed them at their hotel that morning.  Danny had of course insisted on staying with him and Lou, a simmering ball of anger determined to watch Steve’s back.  Thirty minutes in though Danny got out of the van, waiting outside instead.  Now he’s pacing up and down in front of the van, one hand running back and forth over his hair.

Back in Hawaii, they’d all been holding it together after his kidnapping.  Life had slowly been getting back to normal, or whatever the hell that was. Then they’d received the call they’d been waiting for: Wo Fat’s Lieutenant was back in Cambodia.

Danny’s been slowly unravelling ever since.

Steve watches as his closest friend leans against the hood, his fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm.  Normally he’d make some joke about Danny’s sun-starved legs sticking out of his denim shorts but he hasn’t got the heart to do it. 

He needs this nightmare to be _done._

Steve’s prayers are answered as the radio inside the ambulance springs to life.  “We’ve got him,” Wade reports, his voice even and calm.  “We’re clear.”

For a second Steve can’t move.  His heart’s thudding so hard in his chest it feels like it’ll burst.  Then Danny’s pulling the back doors open and Steve’s on automatic pilot and moving, Lou following behind, watching his back.

The next few minutes are a blur of faces as they walk down the street.  Steve follows Danny as they make their way through a shop and into a house behind it.  They have to step over several unconscious bodies to get there.  Steve anxiously checks their faces: he sags with relief when he finally spots Chin and Kono, looking unharmed.  Chin squeezes his shoulder as Steve passes, Kono flashes him a gentle half-smile.  Wrapping the warmth of their love around him he forces one foot in front of the other, every step bringing him closer to the man who had tortured him. 

At the end of the corridor he can see Wade and a member of SEAL Team Nine waiting.  There’s a door which Wade pushes open, hanging back to let Danny and Steve pass him.  Steve doesn’t realise that Lou’s fallen back too until the door closes behind him and it’s only him, Danny and Wade in the room.

Correction, he thinks, as his eyes adjust to the gloom.  Wo Fat’s Lieutenant is in there too.

“This him?” Wade asks, nodding at the man crouched in the corner, his hands and feet secured with plastic ties.  Blood’s streaming from his nose and his bottom lip.

“Yes.”   Steve doesn’t realise he’s spoken until Danny marches across the room, coming to a halt in front of their prisoner.  He’s got his back to Steve and Gutches: his shoulder muscles flex under his tee-shirt, his hands clench into fists.

Wade looks back and forth between them.  “We’ll get ready to move him,” he announces, his gaze resting on Steve for a moment before he turns to leave.  “You’ve got five minutes.”

As the door closes there’s silence in the room.  Steve knows he should do something: he can see Danny’s anger growing, the tension is radiating off of him.  But he’s frozen to the spot, trapped in his lingering memories. Sweat’s sliding down between his shoulder blades.  He can feel it dotting his top lip.

Wo Fat’s lieutenant shatters the silence.  Shifting himself upright, he lifts his chin and looks Steve in the eye.  “You look different,” he says slowly in broken English, “in your clothes.”

Danny’s fist hits his face with a dull thud.  The second punch connects harder, snapping the prisoner’s head back so it hits the concrete wall behind him.  Breathing hard, Danny grabs him by the front of his shirt.

“You can’t touch me,” Wo Fat’s lieutenant smirks. Turning his head he spits: blood splatters on the floor.  “My country does not send people back to America.”

Danny pins him to wall, his just face inches from the other man’s.  “Our two countries might not have an extradition agreement,” he grinds out, his voice low.  Deadly.  “But money talks.  You’re coming with us you fucking son-of-a-bitch.  You’re gonna pay for what you did to St—”

Danny’s voice crumbles on the last word, anguish robbing him of the ability to talk.  With a roar of anger he punches Wo Fat’s lieutenant again.  This time it’s a right hook, with all of Danny’s weight and anger behind it. 

It’s the type of punch that can kill.

Steve grabs Danny’s arm before he can hit his target again.  Wrapping both arms round Danny he pulls him into a bear hug, trapping him against his chest.  It takes all of his strength to keep him pinned as he drags him backwards.  “Don’t.”  He pulls Danny round, forcing him to meet his gaze.  “Not like this, Danny.”

Danny pulls away from him, his lips twisted in a snarl.  “This bastard…this bastard tortured you, Steve.  He tortured you and he…”  Cursing, he turns away, resting his forehead and palms on the wall.  “I wanna kill him.”

Steve’s heart stops, pierced by the pain in Danny’s voice.  Slowly, cautiously, he rests his hand on Danny’s shoulder.  It’s shaking, he notes vaguely, still feeling weirdly detached.  Gently he pulls Danny round to face him.

Steve swallows, his throat suddenly dry.  Danny’s imprisonment in Columbia had been one of the worst periods of his life.  Danny’s guilt at murdering someone – no matter how much they’d deserved to die – had nearly ripped them apart for ever.  Danny can’t live through something like that again.

Neither of them can.

Danny sighs.  It’s a shivery sound, full of doubt and pain.  But before either of them can say anything else the door opens. 

Wade’s expression is apologetic as he comes back into the room.  Reaching into his jacket he pulls out a syringe.  “Time to move our patient,” he says, advancing on Wo Fat’s man.

H50H50H50H50

The drive to the airport is tense.  Corruption is rife in Cambodia and there’s still a chance someone’s been paid off to wreck their operation.  Every car could be carrying a potential attacker.  When they finally take off they let out a collective sigh of relief.

At one end of the cargo hold Wade and his team are keeping guard over their unconscious prisoner, who’s strapped into a stretcher.  The drugs they’ve given him should last a few more hours.  Steve knows they’ve got enough drugs with them to keep the bastard asleep for days if they need to.  It’s not strictly legal but the other option had been to literally knock him out. 

It’s a shame they need information from him so they have to keep his brain intact.

Just looking at him at is threatening to let loose memories: Steve can feel their poison seeping out.  Dragging his eyes away he checks out the rest of his team.  Lou’s obviously given up trying to fit into one of the bucket seats: he’s stretched out on the deck, his rucksack tucked under his head as a pillow, his jacket draped over his face to block out the light.  Chin and Kono are sitting in bucket seats next to each other, their heads touching as they slowly drift to sleep, despite the deafening noise of the plane’s engines. 

Steve’s eyes have to travel further to locate Danny: he’s retreated to the other end of the plane, right next to the loading doors.  Steve bites back a groan of tiredness as he gets to his feet.  Danny doesn’t look up as he slumps down in the bucket seat beside him.  Reaching behind him Steve retrieves two headsets, flicking them on and handing one to Danny.

Danny puts the headset on but he still doesn’t look up.  Steve studies him for a moment, the split skin on his knuckles, the tired shadows under his eyes.  His chest aches at the knowledge that he was the cause of this, or at least some of it.  “He can’t hurt us now, Danny.”

“Us?” Danny looks up, his eyes wide with disbelief.  “What about you, huh?”

“Me?”

Danny snorts, looks away and back again.  “Aren’t you angry?”

“I don’t understand—"

“It’s a simple question,” he insists.  “Yes or no.”

Steve opens his mouth to answer.  Then he closes it again.  He doesn’t _know_.  “Does it matter?”

Danny sighs, his shoulders nudging Steve’s as he leans back in his seat.  “To me?  Yeah, babe.  It matters.”

“You want me to be angry?”

Danny shakes his head.  He looks sad.  “I want you to feel _something_.”

“Danny—"

“You should be angry.”  Danny’s animated now, his eyes swimming with emotion.  “He did things, Steve.  He did things that no one should—"

Memories stir in Steve’s mind.  He shuts them down – fast.  “I know what he did.”

“Then why aren’t you—"

Steve grinds his teeth together.  He understands why Danny is asking – and he knows that Danny is right.  He just doesn’t want to answer him _now_.  “What difference would it make?”

His answer upsets Danny, he can see it in his face.  This is what he was afraid of.  Danny knots his hands together, stilling them.  His chin goes down, his body collapsing in on itself.

“That’s what the Steve I met seven years ago would have said,” Danny whispers over the headset.  “That’s not the Steve I know.”

When Danny reaches up and switches off his headset, Steve lets him.  He accepts the shoulder Danny offers as they settle in their seats.  He leans against it like his life depends on it, welcoming the reassuring warmth of Danny’s body next to him.

He would never have survived this trip without Danny.

H50H50H50

When they touch down on the East Coast there are representatives from the FBI there to welcome them.  Wade handles the formalities, handing over Wo Fat’s lieutenant who is now semi-conscious.  Steve can see that the rest of his team aren’t happy with the arrangement.  He hadn’t been thrilled when they’d first discussed what they’d do once they got Stateside – there’re so many questions unanswered – but he wants this bastard as far away from his Ohana as possible.

As soon as they touch down in Hawaii they’re assigned a new case.  So it’s another week before Steve has time to think about his conversation with Danny on the plane.

It’s late in the evening and he’s in his office.  Chin, Kono and Lou have gone home.  All the lights in the main office are off.  The only other glow of light is coming from Danny’s office.  He can see Danny’s working on his laptop, his head bent down over the keyboard.  He can imagine the shadows under Danny’s eyes, the ones that have become noticeably deeper since their trip to Cambodia.  None of them have really been sleeping. 

Nobody’s really moving on.

Steve takes a deep, shuddering breath.  Lips pursed tightly he logs on to the HPD computer system.  Clicking through, he comes to their current case files.

He’s memorised _his_ case file number, the one that details his kidnap and torture.  The cursor on the screen hovers over the file link.  He clicks on it and the file opens.

Steve’s never looked at it before.  He’s seen enough case files to know what is in there.  But he’s tired of living in this limbo where he doesn’t _feel_ anything.  The incident with Sirius in the restroom had just been him scratching an itch, the itch of the memories trying to escape.  It had worked, for a short while.  He’d put the memories back in the box.  But in doing so he’s shut himself off from his Ohana.  From Danny.  From Charlie and Nahele and Grace.

It’s time to rip the sticking plaster off.

He scrolls down past the text.  He doesn’t need to know to the date and time or names of the officers who were on the scene.  Fear creeps up his spine as he scrolls lower, shivering as the first photo appears.  Glancing over at Danny’s office he turns his attention back to the screen, steeling himself for what he knows he’s going to see.

The memories in his mind become reality through the images on the screen.

Tears pool in his eyes, burning.  The images blur but he keeps scrolling.  The taste of salt on his lips distracts him.  He rubs at his eyes to clear them but the tears keep falling, big fat droplets sliding down his face, pooling on his chin.  Sucking in gasps of air, he scrubs at his face.  Now the tears and the memories have started he doesn’t know how to stop them.  His mind is spiralling out of control.

A hand wrapping around his stops him. An arm slips around his shoulder, tugging him in.  Panic flares – he’s back _there_ – but the familiar scent of Danny overrides it.  Steve clings on, lets himself be led over to the couch.  Danny’s strong arms encircle him, anchoring him in place. 

 _Safe,_ he tells himself, _I’m safe._

He buries his face in Danny’s shirt and cries.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my fellow writers for letting me play in this sandbox with them :) It really has been so, so much fun.
> 
> The last chapter is written by Lavvyan...


	7. lavvyan: Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue has been brought to you by the wonderful msbeeinmybonnet and her [in-depth study of the McGarrett house.](https://msbeeinmybonnet.tumblr.com/post/174942750867/a-floor-plan-for-the-mcgarrett-house-20-updated)

Steve's little breakdown was on a Monday night, so he doesn't even get to sleep in the next day. He drags himself out of bed feeling like his soul is as gritty and sore as his eyes. Poor planning on his part. He drags a hand across his face, looks out of the window. Outside, the rain is beating steadily on the quiet ocean. 

He's been strongly advised against exerting himself for another couple of weeks. 

If he gets a cramp and drowns, Danny will kill him. 

Screw it. 

Stepping into the water is like stepping back into himself. He exhales, relief so strong he can't contain it. 

He swims. 

When he walks into the office, he's calmer, more centered, than he's been in weeks. Chin and Kono greet him with cautious smiles on their faces, like now that he's beginning to regain his footing, they finally can, too. His ohana. 

He loves them so much it hurts. 

"Where's Danny?" he asks.

"Early meeting," Kono says. She grins. "He left you breakfast, though." 

Over her shoulder, Steve sees the paper bag and disposable coffee cup sitting on his desk. 

"Just me?" he asks. 

"No, but Kono already ate hers," Chin says. "She also ate Lou's."

"Ate my what?" Lou asks, coming up behind Steve. "Sister, you better not have touched any food of mine."

And that's Steve's cue to book it into his office before the squabbling starts in earnest. 

It's a slow morning, leaving Steve with plenty of time to take care of the administrative side of Five-0. He approves overtime, signs off on requisitions, loses himself in the quiet of paperwork. It's meditative; almost like swimming. 

Almost. 

Danny comes in just after 11, producing a grease-stained paper bag for Lou and collecting a handful of bills from Kono, shaking his head with an expression of mock-sadness at whatever remark Lou just made. Then he looks over, meets Steve's eyes, and starts to stride purposely toward Steve's office. 

Uh-oh. 

Steve has time to sit up straight and assume an air of nonchalant attention – Danny can't possibly know that Steve's been out in the ocean earlier, can he? – before the door closes behind Danny and a folded piece of paper lands on Steve's desk. 

"All right," Danny declares, plopping down into one of the chairs in front of Steve's desk, "you got three days to get your affairs in order."

"What, you order a hit on me?" Steve relaxes into his chair, making a show of not touching the paper.

"Worse." Danny's grin is decidedly smug. "I'm taking you on vacation."

"Vacation?" Steve leans forward, snatching the paper off his desk. He unfolds it to find himself holding three pages: a travel itinerary, a printed-out plane ticket, and a booking confirmation for... "Danny, this... this is way too expensive."

Danny scratches his nose, like Steve isn't holding a piece of paper that welcomes them to the Ha'aleie Luxury Resort on Maui, place of unbelievable burgers and concierges of artisanal soap. Unbelievable burgers that cost _twenty-five dollars apiece._

"I know. Which is why our little outing is going to be paid for by the State of Hawaii." Danny shrugs. "I, uh, I talked to the Governor. You haven't really taken any time off in seven years and she agrees that getting away from the job for a little bit might help keep you sane." He pauses, waves a hand in a dismissive gesture. "As sane as you ever get."

Steve latches on to the excuse to start a round of banter. It's much easier than trying to process the incredible thing Danny has done. 

The incredible thing Danny has done for Steve. 

"Sane, huh? And she thinks spending ten days alone with _you_ is going to help with that?"

Danny nods and points a finger at him. "You're a funny guy."

"I know," Steve says, and that's the banter, over and done with.

The silence between them feels inexplicably heavy, Danny's expression turning from expectant to wary to exasperated in the time it takes Steve to find his words. 

Steve sighs. "Look, Danny..."

"Don't say no," Danny interrupts. "The whole team will be on stand-down, no phone calls, no nothing. Two weeks of R &R." He raises his hands, palms up, pleading. "You need this, babe. Don't tell me you don't."

He could. He wants to. But he'd be lying, and of all the things Danny deserves from him, the truth sits right at the top of the list. Besides, he's not the only one who could use a time-out. He keeps noticing how, for all that Danny's been putting up a brave front, his gestures are turning progressively erratic as the days go by, the shadows under his eyes taking on a permanent air. 

He's still not sleeping any better than Steve is. Last night's catharsis didn't change that.

Steve sighs again, rubs a hand across his face. Gives in. "Okay."

"Okay?" Danny raises his eyebrows, like he was expecting more of a fight.

"Yeah," Steve grouses, "okay."

"You sure?" Danny asks, but it's faintly mocking now, the way he always gets whenever Steve capitulates without argument. Steve has yet to figure out which one of them the mockery is aimed at: Steve for giving in, or Danny for needing to make sure. 

"Get the hell out of my office," Steve tells him, but the growing smile on his face feels real for the first time since... since. 

He's got an idea, and only three days to put it into action. 

He better get started. 

~~~

Their room is larger this time, with plenty of space for a table and some chairs in addition to the desk and the beds. Steve feels a momentary pang of guilt on behalf of the Hawaiian tax payers. Danny eyes the slim file folder in Steve's suitcase when Steve unpacks his stuff, but doesn't say anything. Instead, he drags them out to a prearranged meeting with the soap concierge because Danny is an unashamed hedonist who likes to try and get Steve to indulge in the occasional luxury. 

"You gotta let her fix you a soap," he says, gesturing at the smiling woman and her basket of test strips and samples. When Steve shows his skepticism – three-minute showers and artisinal soap don't really go together – Danny grabs his forearm and shakes him a little. 

"Babe," he says, insistent. "The soles of your feet will feel like baby skin. Standing on sand will feel _nice._ It's incredible."

The only incredible thing Steve sees is Danny, who doesn't even have to look to keep his touch well away from the scabbing mess of Steve's wrists. He makes a show of rolling his eyes, but gamely lets the concierge do her thing in exchange for Danny promising that they can do room service later. 

"I want to show you something," he says by way of explanation.

Danny huffs and rolls his eyes, as if to ask the heavens what he did to deserve someone like Steve in his life. It's the sort of look that makes Steve want to point out that, for every step he took keep Danny at his side, Danny took two of his own. That doesn't fit with Danny's preferred narrative of himself as the hapless victim to Steve's crazy machinations, though, so most days Steve simply leaves him to his delusions. 

"Is it a hand grenade?" Danny asks, causing the concierge's smile to slip a little. 

"I left that in my other suitcase," Steve says, and grins when that starts a beautiful rant that goes on for almost a whole three minutes. 

Steve times it. 

They have the unbelievable burgers for dinner, and Steve maybe eats a bit more slowly than he usually does, chews a bit more carefully, tells himself he's savoring the meal, doesn't fool himself for a second. He's nervous, more nervous than he's ever been around Danny, and from the concerned glances Danny keeps shooting him, he's not doing a very good job of hiding it. 

He puffs out a breath and tells himself to get it over with. 

The file folder contains four sheets of paper. One of them is a cover letter and another an estimation of the cost of Steve's proposed plan, so he leaves those inside the folder and places the other two pages face-up between their empty plates. 

"What is this?" Danny asks. 

"Plans for the house." Steve's heart is starting to pick up speed. He tells it to calm the hell down. 

"The house," Danny echoes, eyes on Steve's face. 

"My house." Steve takes a deep breath and makes himself say it. "Our house. If you want."

Danny taps the blueprints with his finger, still looking at Steve. "All right. I'm listening."

"Okay. So." Steve clears his throat, leans forward so he can point out the details. "Listen. If we close up the upstairs, expand this bathroom," he gives the blueprints a tap of his own, "and knock down a wall here," he points, "Charlie can have the spare bedroom and Grace can have mine. It's smaller than Charlie's, but she'll have access to the upstairs lanai so I don't think she'll mind. You, uh, you'll have your own space with bathroom access, here." He indicates the space that, right now, is open to the downstairs living room, knowing Danny would never trust a newly-inserted floor to safely carry his kids. On the plan, the new room is labeled 'Danno.' "It's going to be smaller than what you have now, obviously, but the security advantages alone more than make up for it."

Jesus, he sounds like a used-car salesman.

"Security advantages," Danny says.

"I have a safe room in the basement," Steve says. His heart, the stupid thing, is tripping over itself. "My alarm system is better-"

"-if you bother to use it-"

"-and I could outfit the yard with motion sensors. Install panic buttons. Whatever you need to keep your kids safe."

"And where are you in this scenario?" Danny asks. 

"My old room," Steve says, trying to smile as he points at the guest bedroom on the first floor. He feels a little sick, can't even blame it on the burger. 

Danny, who knows Steve better than Steve knows himself sometimes, simply raises his eyebrows. 

"Or?" he asks, voice calm, expression giving nothing away. Waiting. 

"Or," Steve licks his lips, closes his eyes for a moment, opens them again to look straight at Danny, "or the kids get the second floor as it is now, and the two of us move into the downstairs bedroom. Together."

Danny holds his gaze, but doesn't say anything. 

"It's a bit smaller than upstairs, but I figured you wouldn't want Grace or Charlie to have ready access to an outside door."

Danny still doesn't say anything. 

"I mean," Steve says desperately, "Grace is going to have the upstairs lanai, but-"

"Steve."

Steve snaps his mouth shut. 

"Is it so hard to say?"

"What?" Steve blinks. 

"Don't get me wrong, this is..." Danny waves at the blueprints, "I don't know what it is, but it's something. But you didn't insist on staying in for dinner just to offer me real estate. You could have done that at any restaurant." He gives Steve a look that is equal parts fond and sad. "I know you're a man of action, babe, but this is me, here. Just say what you want."

Like it's that easy. Like he even has much experience wanting things just for the sake of holding on to them. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

"When I was... When they had me," Steve says, forces the words out from where they're lodged in his throat like lead, "I knew you'd come. I knew you'd find me."

Danny reaches for his hand, holds on, warm and sure. 

"Of course we found you. We always do."

Steve shakes his head. "No, not the team." He hesitates, and then amends, "Yes, the team, but you, _you,_ Danny. You found me, just like I knew you would. When I woke up in the hospital, I knew you'd be there, and you were. Every day, you were there. You found me again when I nearly blew that case and you held me together when it was all over. You did that." He has to blink against the sudden wetness in his eyes. What Danny did for him, _has done_ for him, is so huge he can barely comprehend it, let alone put it into words that aren't halting and inadequate. "I guess I just... I want to go on knowing you'll be there. You, your kids... I know it's selfish. But that's what I want."

He exhales, suddenly tired. 

He wants so much these days. The islands to be safe. Mary to have a happy life. His team to stop looking like the walking wounded. But most of all, he wants Danny. In his life, in his home; in his bed if he can make it happen. He just... he wants Danny. Any way he can get him, he wants. For himself, for as long as he can hold on to him. 

It's exhausting, all that wanting, but after everything they've been through, surely he's allowed a little selfishness. 

Except Danny's staring at him, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, like they haven't been... like he didn't see this coming. 

"Are you brain damaged?" he asks, every word dripping incredulity. 

Steve jerks back, stung. "If you don't-"

"You want to know I'll be there?" And there go the hands, waving. "How, _how,_ I ask you, have I not _been_ there, huh? I've been your backup since the day we met! How is that not being there? And my kids-"

"You can just say no, you know."

"-love you like another parent, you caveman, and if you think-"

"… What?" Steve asks, suddenly breathless. 

"-for a single moment that they wouldn't be _thrilled_ to move in with you, I'd like to know now so I can tell the Governor to appoint someone else to her elite task force because clearly you're not up to the job!" Danny jabs a finger at him. "How many times do we have to tell you we love you for it to sink in, huh? How many times do I have to call you family? So you want to keep us close, that's not selfish, that's human!" He glares. "And what the hell are you grinning at, you goof?"

"I'm going to kiss you now," Steve informs him, gladness rising in him like the tide, warm and unstoppable. He stands up, walks around the table, rests one hand on Danny's shoulder. 

"Oh, you are, are you?" Danny scoffs, but his eyes are bright. "Are you sure that isn't too sel-"

Turns out getting Danny to shut up isn't as simple as kissing him quiet. He keeps making noises, breathy exhales when Steve nibbles at the corner of his mouth, irritated little grunts when the angle of the kiss isn't quite to his liking, satisfied hums when he licks into Steve's mouth or Steve lets out a sound of his own. He's pushy, infuriating, so completely addictive that Steve knows he'll be gone on Danny for the rest of his life. 

Seems like Danny doesn't mind. 

"Should have known you'd be a menace," he gasps out between Steve's kisses, "you always are, this is not a surprise."

"Do you ever shut up?" Steve asks, and feels stupidly happy when Danny laughs at him and says, "Never, babe."

They climb into the same bed that night without talking about it. They're too exhausted for sex, but Danny's warmth in Steve's arms feels too good to let go, and Danny does some clinging of his own. They're badly damaged, both of them, but especially Steve. He doesn't think having Danny close will keep the nightmares at bay.

But if he jerks awake in the middle of the night, at least now Danny will be right there, brushing his thumb over Steve's neck and murmuring sleepy reassurance. 

It's enough to get by. 

~~~

Living together isn't easy, nor does it magically fix anyone. Steve likes things to be done his way, while Danny chafes at authority. Danny can be mean when he's hurting, while Steve pulls back into himself and waits for the pain to pass. Both of them get snappish when they're hungry, but their definitions of snack food differ considerably, with Steve's wheatgrass shakes on one end of the spectrum and Danny's peppermint patties on the other. Grace, when she stays over, can be witty and sweet the one moment, moody and sullen the next. Charlie thinks the waves are too loud, and even Danny's vindicated expression starts to falter when the boy wakes them up for the third time in the same night. 

But when Steve shakes himself awake, Danny is there to pull him close. When Steve goes to bed at night, when he wakes up in the morning, when he does the dishes after a cookout on the beach and when he tinkers with his car, listening to the Best of Jersey resound through the house as the speakers are driven to their limits. When he puts on the game and waits for dinner to be done, when he throws some ahi on the grill, when he gets into the shower or comes out of the ocean. Danny is there. 

Danny loves Steve, wholly and without reserve, and so do his kids. Steve loves them back with a possessiveness that scares him sometimes. They're not the family he ever imagined himself having, if he thought about it at all, but that somehow makes them even more perfect. 

"I'm glad you're here," he mumbles into the warm skin of Danny's shoulder, already more than half-asleep. 

"You're very sentimental," Danny grouses. His fingers tighten around Steve's hand. 

Steve sleeps.

~~~

THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hasn't this been a ride? Fannish collaborations are the best, and I'd like to thank my co-creators for being such great, creative people, and also everyone who cheered us on along the way. You guys are the best!

**Author's Note:**

> All parts but the epilogue are written, and will be posted by their respective authors. Also, you may visit our Tumblrs!
> 
> Also coming soon, cover art for each chapters!


End file.
